Self Discovery
by zipple
Summary: Hermione discovers herself. Rated T for mild sexual happenings.


A gasp shuddered past her lips. It escaped, and it was the first sign of notable tension from her. 

"Hermione, are you alright?"

She turned and blinked rapidly at Ron, who took a bite from his potatoes.

"I'm fine," she replied. She tried to keep her voice firm, but a tremor still pulsed through it. The Gryffindor table slowly started turning their attention towards her. Perhaps her gasp earlier hadn't been the first sign that she was on edge. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and it was time to get out of there before she would become more of a spectacle. "Would you excuse me? Homework," she muttered. She took one last swig of pumpkin juice and ran out the door.

"What's with her?" Harry asked, leaning towards Ron.

"Dunno. What do you think, Ginny?"

Ginny shrugged and took a good look at the Great Hall's entrance before going back to eating lunch.

Hermione didn't stop running until she found the nearest girl's lavatory, almost tripping on her robes in her haste. Crashing into a stall, she dropped herself onto the toilet, struggling for breath. "Gods!" she gasped. Her face felt flushed and her lips were dry. She popped out her tongue to lick at them and felt a surge. Now that she was by herself, it was time to acknowledge that her heart wasn't the only thing that was pounding.

She glanced down at her once unassuming lap and squeezed her thighs together. Rather than diminish the pulsing between her legs, it only grew stronger. "Ah!" she cried, and in vain, she clenched again, but that only made her head dizzy. She gasped, wondering how something that felt so torturous could be so needed.

Pulling up her robes and her skirt, she pushed her palm to the front of her knickers and held it there. The cool air on her legs only felt spectacular, rather than discouraging like she had hoped.

"Please," she whispered, straining not to move. She pressed her palm harder, hoping that the pressure would stop this incessant need. Her heart began to race furiously as her hips started twitching and sweat began beading on her neck in her efforts not to move.

"Breathe," she commanded to herself, but rather than taking deep, soothing breaths like she imagined, they became shallow and rushed. It was if her lungs wanted her in no more air than was strictly necessary to keep her conscious.

Her hips started pulsing forward on their own accord. Hermione whimpered. How could this be happening? Her body didn't seem to be listening to her at all. It seemed determined to do this strange ritual that felt so natural, yet so foreign at the same time.

The throbbing was unavoidable, uncontrollable. She clenched her thighs again, only to send a fatal shot of pleasure to her core.

A strangled moan echoed sharply in her throat as her stomach contracted as the throbbing paused and collapsed suddenly inside her. The lavatory went black.

Hermione woke on the floor, her hair half in a puddle of water that had dripped all the way from the sinks. She blinked rapidly, not realizing how limp she was until she tried to haul herself up. When she finally managed to sit up, she leaned her head on the stall wall and focused on taking deep, cleansing breaths. Swallowing, she allowed the sated sensation she felt in her body to reach her brain.

"Puberty has a way of sneaking up on you," she remembered Mme Pomfrey explaining in a special class they had arranged for the 3rd year girls at the beginning of the term. "As you may have already noticed, your body have started to change. Your clothes may not fit right. Or your voices are changing. And your moods might even be erratic. Everyone develops differently, which may cause some minor problems in your social life. Witches as wizards may also lose control of their powers every now and then, but I assure you that it's completely normal, and is expected."

Hermione, like the rest of the class, had sunk down into their chairs during the lesson. Mme Pomfrey had made every sound so clinical, as if she were talking about treating rashes. Then Mme Pomfrey DID start to talk about treating rashes, which made the lecture that much more unbearable. Fortunately, Hermione's mother had always been the understanding type and had given Hermione plenty of books on the subject, one or two of which were buried at the bottom of her school trunk. The books explained everything from acne to periods, but having the subject talked about so dryly by a teacher was close to actual torture.

The only consolation Hermione could come up with about the whole situation was knowing that the 3rd year boys had taken a similar class, from Professor Snape of all people. It was rumored that Snape had a job at St Mungo's during the summer holidays, developing potions to cure sexual mishaps caused by magic. He probably made the class about as fun as a root canal. Hermione later confirmed it after their classes, seeing the boys all pale in the face, barely talking to each other and ignoring the girls completely for the next week. After Ron started talking again, he muttered something about flesh-eating warts and left it at that.

In retrospect though, hearing Mme Pomfrey talk about cramps and childbirth was more disturbing. Snape's lecture was all about things that happened when sex went wrong. The lecture given to the girls was all about the painful things that happened when things went right. That thought alone was terrible.

When it had come to the end of the session, no one, not even Hermione, had dared raised her hand to ask questions.

Crouched over the sink, Hermione examined her face. She looked flushed, but normal. She turned on the faucet and wet her hair and face down, feeling the cool water drip down her neck and back, but relishing the relief.

Hermione knew what an orgasm was. The technical definition anyway. She had read about it, and even heard some of the older girls twittering about what it was like. Vaguely, she wondered if she was too young. Maybe that wasn't what she had at all. Maybe it was just a freak accident, or overactive hormones. Was she really supposed to feel like this? How would she know if she had an orgasm? If that was an orgasm, how did her body know what to do when she didn't? Was this all... normal?

Only the older girls really seem to know what they were talking about. Girls her age spent most of their time fawning over romantic fantasies about boys and peaking down their robes wondering when their chests would grow. It was impossible to count the number of times girls had approached her about Harry in some way or another. Why did girls her own age have to be so stupid?

There was really no time to think anymore on the subject. She heard the giggling of some 5th year girls entering the lavatory. Hermione brushed her way passed them, trying to ignore the throb of her tender nipple after an errant elbow bumped it. Not knowing where else to go, Hermione walked to the library. There was only one way she knew of to get control over an uncomfortable mood, and that was by studying.

Hermione promised herself that she really did have to study. She hadn't lied to Ron at lunch; she really did have homework. A lot of homework, in fact. Even though it was Saturday, it was no excuse to slack off.

However, studying wasn't exactly satisfying when teenage curiosity was starting to get the better of you.

Of course, her mother hadn't simply set her off on a bunch of books without involvement. She always answered Hermione's questions as honestly as possible. In fact, Hermione had been surprised how little her classmates knew. "Some mothers are uncomfortable about it," Mrs. Granger explained. "But I want you to be able to ask me rather than getting the answers from someone who might not have your best interests at heart."

That made sense in a lot of ways. Hermione was always curious. Starting her off on the right foot was important. 'But there are some things,' Hermione thought 'that you can't ask your mum. At least, not without thinking it through first.'

She leaned back in her chair, thinking about what provoked all this. Light brown eyes, shocking red hair... Hermione leaned back, relishing the image. It seemed silly, but there was just a moment that morning where everything just clicked.

It was getting late, and Hermione had missed dinner. Mme Pince shook her shoulder, giving her a usual 'it's time to go' look. Reluctantly, Hermione put back the book she had been flipping through and left for the Gryffindor house.

"Hey, Hermione!" Ron called from the floor. He and Harry were playing Wizard's chess. She didn't understand why Harry still played. He never won. "Where have you been all afternoon? You ran out of the hall, you missed dinner. What's going on?"

"Uh," Hermione muttered. Ron was really the last person on earth she wanted to talk to at the moment. It felt awkward looking at him. They locked eyes for a minute, hers pleading, his confused. "I gotta go to bed," she said, dashing up the stairs.

"But it's only 8:30!" Ron called. "Honestly, she's nutters," Ron muttered to Harry.

"Right. Ha! Check mate!" Harry exclaimed.

"Ah , you bloody-"

"I think I'm going to go talk with Hermione," Ginny said, folding her magazine away and getting up from the chair near the fire. Neither boy heard her though, as Ron was commanding his pieces to rat on Harry if he had cheated.

Ginny climbed the stairs towards Hermione's dorm. She might have been young, but Ginny understood the unmistakable way that Hermione looked at lunch. Growing up with six older brothers taught you a thing or two about awkward pubescent embarrassment.

"Hermione?" Ginny said, knocking on the dorm door.

"Go away," came the muffled reply.

Not to be deterred so easily, Ginny tried the handle. She figured that the door would have been jinxed shut, but it wasn't. She found Hermione next to her trunk, flipping through a book.

Ginny walked up quietly towards Hermione sitting on the floor next to the bed, but she did not seem to notice Ginny's entrance until she gave a loud cough. "Ginny!" she yelped, shutting the book and tossing it haphazardly under the bed. It slid out the other side.

"I'll get it," Ginny said with a good-natured smile, and walked around the bed. The book was dusty, and obviously muggle. 'Our Bodies, Ourselves' stared up at her in bold letters. Ginny flopped herself down on her belly on Hermione's bed casually and started flipping though the care-worn book. "You know, Mum gave me 'the talk' last year, during the summer. Kind of embarrassing, actually. She made it sound all... weird. You know?"

Hermione nodded curtly.

"I mean, it's confusing, but we get through it, right?"

"Right."

Ginny continued flipping through the book, occasionally stopping and reading a passage here and there. Every once in a while, she'd actually giggle. "I mean, can you imagine what it'll be like to sn-"

At that moment, Ginny felt the book being yanked from her fingers. A moment passed where she and Hermione simply stared at one another.

"Hermione? What-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence though, as she felt warm, dry lips brush furtively over hers. It took a moment, but her eyes drifted shut and she tilted her head down to make the angle a little more comfortable.

It was no more than a quiet pressing of lips, but the electricity buzzed between them. Hermione backed away and took a sharp intake of air, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry, Ginny! I can't believe! I mean, I've been wanting to do that all day, and-"

"Shut up," Ginny said, before grabbing Hermione's face in her hands and yanking her forward for another kiss. They broke away a moment later, pressing their foreheads together. "I've been wanting to do that all year," Ginny murmured.


End file.
